Friday, October 31, 2008

These stories are a welcome break from the previous stories. I wrote these up last year, and they were only seen by a friend I wrote them for.

"DON'T MIND IF I DO!"

Once, a friendly old man passed away. His friends and neighbors got up the biggest funeral that'd ever been in the Ozarks for him.

However, a couple of young fellows decided they'd take advantage of this. They were grave robbers. Back in those days, medical colleges would pay quite handsomely for dead bodies to examine and run tests on. What these robbers would do is wait until dark, dig up the coffin and put the corpse in their wagon, covered in straw, so no one would see it. Then, they'd put the coffin back in the ground, fill up the hole, and put all the flowers back, and no one would be the wiser.

That night, the weather turned pretty cold, and some freezing rain began to fall. The two robbers went into an inn for a hot cup of rum.

They were in that inn for awhile. They polished a whole bottle of rum between them, and then laughed as they watched a younger fellow stagger out the door. They got a bottle of whiskey for the road, and headed back out.

The road they were on was pretty bumpy.

"Think he's thirsty?" joked the driver, meaning the dead man in the back.

"Let's see!" said the other. He held the whiskey bottle out and said, "Rise up, ol' stiff, and have a snort o' whiskey!"

A figure sat up in the straw and held out his hand and said, "Don't mind if I do!"

Those two grave robbers fell out of the wagon and were in the next county by sunup.

The younger fellow who had staggered out of the saloon brushed the straw off of him. That straw had been pretty nice to sleep off his whiskey. He turned the wagon around and went back to town. Pretty soon, he found the dead man in the back, and turned it over to sheriff, who turned the corpse, and the grave robbers money that had been left in there, over to the old man's family.

The family was so grateful for the return that they used the money to have an even bigger funeral for the old man.

Not everyone gets two big funerals, not even in the Ozarks.ONE-EYE JACK

A rich widow lived all alone in an old cabin. She was a pleasant woman, and lived pretty contendedly, and loved having visitors. But she was a little odd.

One odd habit she had was that she kept her fortune in plain sight, in a glass jar over her fireplace. Word of this soon got out, and soon One-Eye Jack, the crafty robber, heard about it. He was called "One-Eye Jack" because he had lost an eye some time ago, and wore an eyepatch.

To help him rob the old lady, he got two friends to come with him. Late that night, they went to go do the deed. They decided to send one of them ahead to see if the widow was asleep. One of the two other robbers went to her cabin. All her windows were closed shut, but he noticed a small hole in the wall by the chimney. He peered in.

There was the widow, knitting. All at once she yawned and said, "There's one. Soon, there'll be two more, and..." here she looked directly at the hole, "I'll get my knife and cut a piece out of you."

That robber was scared to death, and ran back to One-Eye Jack.

"She knows we're coming!" he gasped, "And she's ready to put up a fight! She wants to cut a piece out of me!"

"Rubbish!" said One-Eye Jack, and sent the other robber to check on the widow.

The other robber went up to the hole by the chimney, only to see the widow yawn once again, and say, "There's two. Soon, there'll be the third, and..." she looked at the hole, "I'll cut a chunk out of you."

That robber ran and told One-Eye Jack what he'd seen and heard.

"Baloney!" chortled One-Eye Jack, and went to look himself.

When he peered through the hole, the widow yawned again.

"There's the third," she said, putting down her knitting, and picking up her knife. "And now, One-Eye Jack," she continued, looking at the hole, "I'm going to cut a slab out of you!"

With that, One-Eye Jack took off running, and the other two robbers didn't catch up with him until they'd reached the next county.

The widow walked over to the chimney, and cut a piece out of a large, dried Jack Salmon she had hung on the wall. (She could only see one eye on it.) She out the piece in her mouth and began to chew, and headed off to bed.

She had a touch of rheumatism, and she heard fish oil was good for that. And if you yawned pretty big three times, it was time for bed, wasn't it?PAW-PAWS

One day, a well-fed boy was walking down the street. He was passing the graveyard when he stopped. He heard something: voices.

"You take this one, I'll take that one."

There was a pause, then he heard it again! It could only be one thing! He ran home, lickety-split!

When he got home, his father was on the porch.

"Pop!" he shouted. "I just heard it!"

"What, son?"

"In the graveyard! It's the Lord and the Devil! They're divvying up the souls!"

The father looked at his son sternly.

"Boy," he said, "I've told you to stay out of the corn-liquor."

"No, honest to goodness, pa! Come on! Hear it for yourself!"

The pop shook his old head.

"Son," he said, "You know I ain't done no big walks for five years now, what with my game leg and all. You're gonna haveta carry me."

The boy grabbed his father and hurried down the street.

As they got to the graveyard, they heard it again.

"You take this one, I'll take that one."

They listened to this awhile, then they heard the voices say something else.

"Well, there's none left but these two. Tell you what. I'll take the old, shriveled one, and you take that plump one!"

Fearing their souls had now been claimed, the boy ran home! But you know what? His pop beat him by a solid minute!

It was too bad they stick around longer. Otherwise, they could've caught the two boys who had stolen the paw-paws from their trees."YOU CAN'T GET OUT"

A drunk was walking through a cemetary on his way home from a party. He was staggering pretty bad, when he fell into a freshly-dug grave for a funeral the next day. The cold brought him back to his senses, and he tried to climb out, but it was no use. After an hour, he decided to wait until morning. By then, someone would find him and help him out.

Soon, another drunk came through the cemetary, even worse off than the first. He fell into the same hole. The first man watched him try to scramble out, before saying, calmly:

Thursday, October 30, 2008

"Pennywinkle, Pennywinkle,
I was murdered, I was eaten,
I was buried.
I want to see, I want to breathe,
Pennywinkle."

Mandy woke up in her bed. That dream was too strange and fantastic. But she knew that voice. Did the dream have something to do with her? She thought about everything she'd done that day.

She'd gone to school, leaving her little step-brother, William, alone with her mother. School had been just fine, she'd done well in her lessons. Then she came home and found that William was gone. Her mother said he had run away from home, though William had always seemed like such a happy young boy. Why would he run away from home? Then she buried a bag of pig innards under the marble slab. She then remembered what had happened then. Pennywinkles, those little blue flowers, had sprung up from the ground. When her father came home and heard about his son running off, he wanted to go after him.

He would, Mandy thought, William is his blood son. I'm just his step-daughter.

Her mother had him eat before he went, but Mandy had felt too sick to eat anything. Then she remembered how her mother had also felt sick. She didn't eat any of the pork, either. That was why Mandy hadn't joined her father on his way out. She was supposed to stay and help her mother.

She looked over at the other bed where her mother slept. That part of the cabin was pitch black.

Mandy sat up, and as she did so, a pile of pennywinkle flowers fell onto her lap.

~ ~ ~

"Pennywinkle, Pennywinkle,
I was murdered, I was eaten,
My sister buried me.
I want to see, I want to breathe,
Pennywinkle."

Mr. Morgan woke up. It was cold. What was with that dream? He knew that voice. Slowly he remembered what had happened that day.

Early in the morning, he left his second wife alone with his son William. His step-daughter Mandy was off too school, but William wasn't quite old enough. He had gone to plow some ground, leaving his wife with one request: she butcher the pig and cook it for dinner. Everything had gone fine, until he came home and discovered William had run away. He was going to go after him, but his wife made him eat first. That pork had tasted very odd.

Mr. Morgan sat up, and as he did so, a pile of pennywinkle flowers fell onto his lap.

"Father!" screamed a voice in the distance. "Father!"

It was Mandy.

~ ~ ~

Mrs. Morgan woke up with a start. It had been a day where she wished she had never married that widower. But she had.

Her husband had never known that she hated his son, William. Of course, she never beat him, she was too clever for that. If she had done so, William would have cried to his father. So, she had beat the pig that was penned in the yard instead. When her husband had left that morning, she opened the pen, but the pig was so afraid of her, that it dashed away. She wasn't about to run off to look for a pig.

Mr. Morgan and Mandy hurried back to the cabin. The door was shut fast.

"Killed my son, made me a cannibal, and now she locks me out of my own home on a cold night!" he shouted between clenched teeth.

"Your axe, father!" cried Mandy. "Break down the door!"

Mr. Morgan ran to the woodpile and pulled out his axe. With a few blows, the front door to the cabin fell inward.

It was still and dark inside the cabin, so Mandy lit a candle. The two gasped at what they saw: Mrs. Morgan lay on her bed. Blood dripped into a pool on the floor. Her throat had been cut.

Mandy pointed to Mrs. Morgan's left hand, dangling from the bed. In it was permanently clutched her butcher knife, clotted with her own blood. Her right hand was on her breast, clutching a small handful of pennywinkle flowers.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Late one evening, a young farmer was riding home after having his cow butchered. He decided to take a shortcut through Walleye Hollow.

Walleye Hollow was named for Old Walleyes, the legendary Wildcat of the Ozarks. He was like a panther, but almost as big as a bear. Folks said his head was as big as a washtub. If he got a smell for your blood, you'd better ride fast, or you were a goner.

The reason the beast was called Old Walleyes was because his eyes were foggy: he was blind.

But the young farmer took no stock in these tales. They'd been told for years. Probably Old Walleyes would be dead by now.

As he was passing the cave that Old Walleyes was said to live in, a wheel broke off of his wagon. He stopped the horse, and began to fix it. Night began to fall, and the smell of that fresh beef began to waft in the air.

All at once, from the cave, the farmer heard a growl, and a snort. Something was in there. It sounded hungry.

He began to use some wire to get the wheel fixed.

The sounds got louder. Something was coming out!

Finally, the wheel fit on the lynchpin. He got back on the wagon and got the horse going, when he heard the tailgate of the wagon shatter.

He looked behind him. There, were two pale, glowing orbs of light: Old Walleyes was real, and on his tail!

The horse needed no prodding and began to gallop.

Old Walleyes can't be that fast, thought the farmer. He's too big.

But as he looked behind him, he saw Old Walleyes keeping instep, and it looked as if he was actually catching up!

All at once the man had an idea. He dropped the reigns, turned, and kicked a slab of beef off the wagon. Better it than me, he thought.

He watched Old Walleyes stop and sniff the beef. He expected to see the monster begin to eat it.

The monster did eat it. In one gulp. The next moment, it was back on the trail.

The wagon passed through a couple of trees. It was very narrow going.

He won't be able to fit through there!

Old Walleyes got to the trees, and pushed them down!

The man kicked out another slab of beef off of the wagon. Old Walleyes stopped once again, and ate it down!

The farmer had got about thirty yards ahead, but Old Walleyes could run like a devil wind! Soon, it was trying to climb onto the wagon!

The farmer kicked the last of the beef into the road.

Old Walleyes stopped, and ate it down! But, soon enough, he was back, his hot, sticky breath smelling of fresh beef.

The wagon crossed through a stream.

The man looked behind him, expecting to see the monster still behind the wagon.

Instead, he saw Old Walleyes sitting on the other side of the stream, beef blood dripping from his mouth.

Then the farmer remembered the stories he'd heard: Old Walleyes can't cross running water, and he can't climb trees.

The man made it home, alive.

Years later, the farmer's son was taking a shortcut through Walleye Hollow after a trip to the butcher. When he was passing the cave, his wagon broke.

The son remembered his father's story and got on his horse and rode off.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

"Of course, papa," said Mary, coming into the front room. "Are you going out so late?"

"No," replied her father. "I just came back. I forgot to pick it up."

"Where did you leave it?" she asked, wrapping her kerchief around her shoulders.

"In that fallow ground down the hill."

Mary nodded and headed out. It was just getting dark when she reached the fallow ground. She found her father's walking stick, but as she began to lift it, it cracked into the ground. Mary quickly thought of two explanations: someone or something had been buried there, either in a hurry, or it was a grave no one cared about.

Suddenly, something grabbed the stick from below her. She looked down. A withered, shrunken hand reached out of the ground and began pulling on the stick. She would have ran, but something had taken over her will. The strange thing climbed out of the ground. It looked kind of human, but it was shrunken and looked all dried up, like it was made of corn husks. It resembled a monkey more than anything else. But whatever it was, it was horrid.

The thing sat on Mary's shoulders. It was light, but it felt so heavy.

"Walk," it said, and Mary did. She did not want to, but her will was not her own.

"I hunger," said the thing. "I've had naught to eat for many a year."

At the first house they came to, the thing had Mary turn in. When Mary reached the house, though, the thing pulled her back.

"No!" it shrieked. "'Tis a God-fearing home."

Mary left the yard and went on to another house, but again the thing pulled her back.

"'Tis another holy home," it said.

Mary went on to another house. She recognized this one: it was the home of three old friends of hers, the three McClaren boys.

"Oh no," she thought, "Please, don't make me go in here!"

"Go in," said the thing. "There's none that serve the Lord in this home!"

The family was asleep. Mary saw the sky out of a window she was nearby. It was pitch black.

"It must be midnight," she thought. "But it was only about eight when Papa sent me to the fallow."

She began to wonder if she would ever see her father again, when the thing said, "Into the kitchen with ye."

It still held Mary's will, so she had no choice.

In the kitchen, the thing made her take a bowl and a sharp knife.

"Go upstairs," it commanded.

Mary went upstairs, the thing still astride her shoulders. She dreaded whatever the thing would make her do, but what could be done about it?

She went up, and found all three of the McClaren boys, asleep.

"Take their blood," said the thing.

Against her will, Mary slit each of the boy's throats, tears dripping from her eyes. She thought of all the wonderful times she had spent with them, and now she would never see them alive again. She caught the blood into the bowl.

After this harrowing ordeal, the thing made her go back into the kitchen.

"Make gruel!" it commanded.

And Mary did so. She boiled water, and poured in oats. Then she realized what the thing wanted the blood for. Against her will, she added the blood to the gruel, making a disgusting concoction in the pot.

"Serve us!" the thing commanded.

Mary took out two bowls and spoons and set places at the table. She divided the gruel into the two bowls. She began to wonder why there were two bowls, when the thing said:

"Now, eat a morsel!"

Mary felt she would vomit. With her hand trembling, she took up a spoon, dipped it into the gruel, and brought out a spoonful of it. She began to lift it towards her lips, but her hand shook so! All at once, the mess fell into her kerchief! But the thing still commanded her will, and she put the empty spoon in her mouth. Her jaws chewed on nothing, and her throat swallowed.

"Now ye be one of us!" said the thing.

Mary wondered at this, then she realized that the thing thought she had eaten it! It could not see below her chin!

The thing crawled off of Mary, and as it did, it's spell on her faded away.

It got up into the other chair, and began io eat it's own bowl of gruel. Mary pretended to eat, but when the thing was not looking, she dropped it into her kerchief.

Eventually, the meal was finished.

"Now, let's be off!" said the thing.

"Let me clean up first," replied Mary. She put the dishes into a sink. She looked down at her kerchief, filled with the bloody gruel. Did she want to carry that with her? She took it off and put it in the sink.

She turned to the thing. It grabbed her and crawled up her shoulders again. Once again, her will was taken over.

"Back to my grave," it said.

Mary began walking outside. She saw streaks of dawn against the sky.

"Now that ye be one of the dead," said the thing, "ye can know what we do. That gruel made you dead, but if any had been left and fed to those dead boys, they'd arise."

Mary felt her heart leap! She could save her old friends! But if only the thing would get off!

As they came back to the fallow, the thing pointed at a pile of stones.

"Under yonder cairn," it said, "lies my ill-gotten gold. Little good it did me in life."

The thing now got off her shoulders. Mary was free! She watched it climb into the grave.

"Come with me, Mary," it said, "to your new home."

"Nothing doing!" cried Mary. "I ate none of your hideous gruel!"

The thing began to swear, but the sun then rose, and sent a beam of light straight into the eyes of the thing! Mary grabbed the walking-stick and hit the thing with it. It broke into countless pieces, like strings, but soon collapsed into dust and was carried away by the wind.

On her way home, Mary stopped at the McClaren's. The boys' parents were upstairs, bewailing the loss of their sons.

"Maybe I can help," replied Mary, holding out a bowl of water and her kerchief, which she had picked up downstairs.

"Let her," said Mrs. McClaren. The two parents left the room, leaving Mary to discover that her friends had perished.

Or so they thought.

The boy's mouths were all open to some extent when Mary had cut their throats, and she put some of the gruel inside each of their mouths. The boys began to move. Then, they opened their eyes and awoke. Then, they began to talk about terrible nightmares they had had.

The McClarens were glad to have their sons alive, but little did they know of the price Mary had paid for it.

Poor Mary never married. Throughout her long life, she never had the joy of having a child. But she did live comfortably. She bought the fallow ground where the thing had been buried. After that, she became mysteriously wealthy.

Monday, October 27, 2008

I had an odd dream last night where I lived in what seemed like a bigger version of my apartment. For some reason, I took in a few roommates. One was a lady, the others seemed to be my younger brothers and my youngest sister, but they didn't really feel like family.

Apparently, the lady and I had an agreement where she could stay if she kept the place clean. She complains to me in one vivid part of the dream:

"My last job was washing dishes for someone, do I have to do that?"

My reply was, "No, but you can start looking for another place to live."

Heheh... I can be so mean! And not just in my dreams...

So, I won a bid on a camera on eBay. It was a different color of the same model my sister Audrey and I bought a few years ago, in 2005, I believe.

I bought a new one because Audrey moved out and I let her have the camera. But eventually, I wanted my own again, so I decided to see if I could get the same type. Now I do, and it's red, not the first one's black, so the two will never get mixed up.

This model, the Samsung Digimax A503, can take photos with vary quality, has a zoom, lets you tint your photos and invert the colors, make them black and white or sepia tone; you can film video with color tints or inverted color or in black and white or sepia tone, and you can choose between two sizes of video, YouTube's 320X240, or DVD quality 640X480; and you can also record WAV clips.

Yeah... It might look like a regular digital camera, but it does so much, so of course I wanted a new one... (Still, for serious filming, you better get a good actual camcorder. That might be out of my price range for awhile... If the lighting's good, this will be fine.)

AND... because I have a camera, I can finally show you this:

This is my new cat, Jack. Audrey and Shaun rescued him from an inevitable cat fight. Right now, he's a little nuts, but I'm working on getting him disciplined. I do still miss Scot, but he'll never be fully replaced. You just got to get on with life and stop dwelling on the past.

This week, I'm re-running the original run of "Ozark Horror." These were originally shared with a friend via e-mail, then posted on my MySpace blog last year. Now they are on this blog.

Deep in the woods of the Ozarks, there lived an old witch. She wasn't the kind who would stir up trouble for anyone, but everyone was afraid of her and kept their distance anyways. Thus, she only had one friend: an old razorback hog who would dig up roots and herbs for her in return for her slops. Very soon, after eating all of her old potions, the hog began to talk and walk like a man.

One autumn, it was hog-scalding and butchering time. One lazy old man went into the woods to steal a hog. Sure enough, he found the witch's pet. He quickly took it down with his rifle. Then, he carried to Hog Hollow, where the farmers would scald their dead pigs to remove the rough skin and then butcher the hogs for meat for the winter.

As the old man was riding away in the wagon, the hog's skinned ("raw") head fell off and rolled back to Hog Hollow.

There must have been something strange in that witch's potions. When the head stopped rolling, it said, "Bloody bones, get up."

With that, the old bloody bones of the hogs formed themselves into a skeleton and picked up the raw head and set it on it's own shoulders.

Then, it ran into the woods, and borrowed items from the animals: the panther's fangs, the bear's claws, and the owl's eyes.

That night, the old man couldn't sleep. He got up. Then, he thought he heard something on the roof. He looked up the chimney and froze in terror.

There were two glowing eyes staring down at him, just above a shining set of teeth. He saw flashing claws that looked as sharp as razors.

And it was getting closer. The thing was coming down the chimney!

The next morning, the old man's cabin was found in a shambles. There was no sign of anyone, but there were horse-hoof tracks leading away from the cabin, back to Hog Hollow. The neighbors found nothing but bones, but somehow, they knew they were not hog bones.

They never saw the old man again, but on nights with a full moon, if someone were to look at the moon at midnight, they would see a skinny, headless, figure, wearing an old shirt and overalls, riding the old man's horse.

And while the figure has no head on his shoulders, he does have a head. He carries it with him, holding it up against the moon.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Kenneth Roberts was taking the old Springfield road to his new homestead in Arkansas. How sweet the Ozark air felt as it blew past him. The grass was so green, the ground so even for his wagon. As he passed a rugged outcropping, he looked up in the horizon at the clear, blue sky.

Suddenly, there was a thud in the wagon. Kenneth turned to see a dark, dirty man standing in board, a rifle held in his hands.

"What do you want?" demanded Kenneth.

The man didn't answer as he blew Roberts' head off. The body slumped down on the buckboard, and the dirty man kicked it off.

"Tell Saint Peter Alf Bolin sent you."

Stories were told in low whispers around Springfield, Ozark, and Forsyth about Bolin and his gang. Murder Rock was known for Bolin's gang to hide out at and sight and attack their victims. No one was sure how many people had been slain at Bolin's hands.

No one knew where Bolin had come from, at least, if they did, they didn't tell. The old Ozark wives claimed that someone so bloodthirsty could not be human. In their eyes, Bolin was a monster that crawled from Hell.

Only great-great-grandfather Cloud at James River knew where Bolin was from. He'd taken in the poor orphan from New Orleans. He had tried to be friendly to the boy, but any attempt to get on his level had been met with bitterness and anger.

When Alfred was sixteen, one day, he took one of Cloud's horses and rode off. Cloud had no idea what had become of Bolin, until he heard the stories of Murder Rock.

Finally, in 1862, word came that a posse from the Union Army was going to wipe out Bolin's gang once and for all. Cloud's heart soared in the hopes that the terror could be silenced once and for all.

About a week later, Cloud and his wife were quietly enjoying an evening at home when they heard a voice shouting to them.

"Cloud, come out!"

Cloud looked at his wife. That voice made their blood run cold.

It was Bolin.

Cloud walked onto to the porch.

"Cloud!" shouted the hooded man, who stood with two others and two tired horses.

"What is it?"

"Give us horses! And we'll take all the guns and shells you got on the farm!"

Cloud nodded. Maybe, just maybe, if he gave Bolin what he needed, this would help end the horror, Alfred and his men hiding out until the end of their days.

"Why, Alf, don't you know you can have anything on this farm that you need?"

The hooded man raised his rifle and shot Cloud dead, the new widow running to see what had happened. She was the next target and soon fell to the porch.

Bolin looked toward Cloud's stables, but he heard a horse approaching and he and his two companions jumped on their horses and rode away.

It was cold the next winter. Bolin was hiding alone in a cave when a young boy walked in, calling for him. Bolin recognized him as the son of one of his old gang members, Tom Richards.

"What is it, boy?"

"Mama says she got some news for you," slurred the boy. "She wants to tell you up at the house."

Alf nodded and followed the boy to the old cabin. As he entered, he noticed a strange man he'd never seen before.

Bolin sighed and removed his gloves to warm his hands by the fireplace.

"It's too bad about Tom. Can I get some coffee? Thanks. He'll probably spill the beans."

"He did," replied the stranger, as he bashed in Bolin's head with the butt of a rifle.

Mrs. Richards took her son outside as the soldier in disguise continued to beat Bolin. Soon, the soldier emerged, dragging out the body of the man that so many had feared. He positioned the body on the chopping block, neck up. He raised the axe and it quickly fell.

Bolin's head was taken to Ozark, where it was identified by great-great grandmother Cloud, who had barely managed to escape Bolin's fire.

"That's him, and I'm glad to say it," she said.

Bolin's body was buried, but his head was put on display in Ozark, set on a high pole. The citizens were gratified by the gruesome sight.

One morning, the people of Ozark found that the pole had fallen over. The head of Bolin was nowhere in sight.

"Guess the hogs ate it," someone joked.

No one ever discovered the fate of Bolin's severed head.

People began claiming to see a headless ghost at Nickerson Ridge. It would jump out and scare travelers and their horses. While no one's seen it since 1959, some say it's Bolin's ghost, looking for his head.

This narrative is loosely based on legends about Alf Bolin, whose name has also been spelled Bolen and Bolden. No one seems sure of the truth of his life, but the murders he did at Murder Rock and the event of his death are very real. This narrative preserves many of the tall tales I discovered about him. I am including some links to pages about Bolin for further reading. You will notice that not all of their details match up. Not all of the elements could be true.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Okay, I recently bought the new Platinum edition of Disney's Sleeping Beauty. Well, I can say this: it is a good DVD release. The special features make quite a solid package, and the film presentation is excellent.

I wish they'd drop the music section of special features on Disc 1 of these releases. It usually consists of a sing-a-long of selected songs from the movie. I mean, some kid may enjoy this, but really, if you want the lyrics onscreen, there is the subtitles, and each song usually has it's own chapter, anyways, making this feature pointless.

The other is more annoying. They take a memorable song from the movie, and rape it.

Okay, maybe not rape.

Destroy.

Murder.

Mutilate.

Disembowel.

RUIN.

Anyways... They re-arrange it for some new artist that usually originated on the Disney Channel to "sing" (someone who knows music has told me they actually "sing through their nose," which is not really singing at all, but speaking with the music, which Julie Andrews was forced to do in Princess Diaries 2, no slight to her, she had to because of a condition, but I digress) this song.

I first saw this when I bought my sister The Little Mermaid Platinum Edition, with "Kiss The Girl" sung by High School Musical star Ashley Tisdale. This kind of disgusted me, because the original had a reggae air to it that was lost in the new pop version.

Later on, when Peter Pan went Platinum, I bought it, as it was a favorite childhood film of mine. This featured "The Second Star To The Right" covered by T-Squad. I loved the song, but this cover was awful. The magical, choral sound of the original was replaced by "ain't we so cool?" pop CRAP.

Now, Sleeping Beauty I bought two copies of. A friend who lives overseas prefers the Region 1 editions, and will be paying me back. I bought my own because it looked like an excellent release of a Disney classic. This time around, it got worse as Hannah Montana's Emily Osment butchers "Once Upon A Dream."

Now, the previous cases, they were ruining original Disney songs, and if Disney's ruining their own songs, let 'em. BUT! In the case of this song, and all the other songs from the film, the music was not Disney's in the first place, but that of Tchaikovsky. Disney brilliantly adapted the music of his ballet for the score and music for the songs for their movie.

SO, this re-arrangement is not only offensive to hardcore classic Disney fans like myself, but also to fans of Tchaikovsky's classic music, as the video's song (though I can hardly bear to watch it) doesn't even sound like the original.

Please Disney, stop it with the pop CRAP. I know it makes money, but it's not art. It will make you some money now, but when time goes by, will it be remembered? Will it seriously be labeled "classic?" It's in all your recent movies and music.

The only Disney-released movies from the past few years I've been impressed with, they didn't really make: Walden Media and Pixar did. (Though I've not been a fan of everything Pixar...) Walt would be ashamed!

Saturday, October 18, 2008

The following story is loosely based on a true story. The men it actually happened to chose not to disclose their names, so technically, the names haven't been changed.

Jacob and Robert Steele were riding their horses down an old Arkansas road. They breathed in the fresh, Spring air.

"Sure is nice," sighed Robert.

"Yeah," replied Jacob. "Soon enough, there'll be cars all over..."

And with that, they heard a motor coming up the road toward them. It was a farmer riding a tractor. As he turned the bend, he looked behind him in fear. The tractor was coming straight at Jacob and Robert! Quickly they rode their horses off the road, but there was no need. The farmer noticed them and shut off his tractor.

"Stop!" he shouted. "Don't go any further!"

"Why not?" asked Jacob.

"That's Peter Bottom down there!"

"Yeah, the little valley meadow under Nob Hill, what's the problem with that?"

"Something horrible's down there!"

The two brothers looked at each other.

"Come on old man, this is 1966, no one believes in monsters anymore," said Robet.

"It's true! Didn't you hear about that newspaper article a few years back?"

"I think I heard. Some crazy old killer doctor who hid out there said there was a monster that lived in the cave."

"Right before he died," added Jacob.

"It's true! I saw it while I was in my fields!"

"Well, thanks for the warning, sir."

The farmer shook his head and drove off.

Robert and Jacob rode down into Peter Bottom. All at once, their horses stopped and the two brothers could not pull them along any further. They dismounted and tied the reins to a nearby tree.

As they came into the glen, they noticed a white patch in the grass some distance away. It looked like fur.

"Must be a dead cow or something," murmured Jacob.

When they were about ten yards away from the white patch, it began to stir. It suddenly stood up.

Jacob said later that they might have exaggerated some details because they had been scared, but they did describe what they saw:

"It stood like a man, but it was eight, no, nine feet high. It's pink face looked human, but it had those red eyes! It smelled strongly like old coffee grounds. It was covered in thick, white hair, and it made a noise like a radio sending signals."

The thing, whatever it was, began walking towards the brothers, but they turned and ran back to their horses and quickly rode out of Peter Bottom.

By the time they got home, Robert was almost in a state of shock, and had to be hospitalized for a couple weeks.

When people heard what the two brothers had seen, they decided they might be able to find the monster if they stuck together. Many hunting parties explored Peter Bottom and went into the cave. No one ever saw the monster under Nob Hill again.

People began to wonder if the monster was related to the Mo Mo, the Missouri Monster. The boys' description matched what people had claimed to see, except that it was white fur, and this was Arkansas. The Mo Mo reports usually described black or dark brown fur. Others thought it might even be an albino Bigfoot.

Not too long after the sighting, farmers reported that they had found their cattle torn apart in a strange fashion. Almost all claimed their hen houses had been broken into, many chickens being stolen, and some squashed to bits.

Even more shocking, the body of a farmer was found near his barn, his body torn apart, and some limbs missing.

Whatever might be in Peter Bottom, people are quite all right with leaving it alone.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

They say every story has some truth in it, somewhere. Well, in the Ozarks, there have been sightings of ghosts confirmed by several people. These spooks have been seen in theatres, hotels, churches, and even out on the road.

The Landers Theatre in Springfield, Missouri has had several ghosts spotted. One has been seen watching performances from the balcony. One has been spotted looking out the window of a dressing room when no one was up there. From reports, it seems to be an actor dressed in Elizabethan-style clothing. Perhaps an unfortunate Hamlet? Other ghosts have been seen and heard in the seats when there is no performance being held. Other ghosts have only been seen out of the corner of the eye.

The Crescent Hotel in Eureka Springs, Arkansas seems to be as haunted as it is majestic. Guests have reported waking in the middle of the night and seeing unfamiliar people in their room. People have seen mysterious nurses, men dressed in the style of the early 20th Century, nurses pushing trolleys, and college girls dressed as if they were in school in the 1930's. They have felt presences, seen what they claim to be paranormal energy bolts, even heard and recorded strange voices. Many of the ghosts have been blamed on the fact that the hotel was once a phony cancer clinic that only gave their patients false hope of a cancer cure.

Other reports include lights turning on and off by themselves, guests feeling as if someone was trying to push them out of bed, windows and doors opening and closing by themselves, and hearing footsteps. One night, a clerk heard the toilet flushing and footsteps in room 218. Realizing the room had not been rented, he checked it, only to find it empty. The Crescent is considered America's most haunted hotel.

There are some people who say they can see and feel ghosts, or "spirits," as some prefer to call them. These people have reported sightings or feelings in schools, public buildings, even churches. In one case, a husband and his wife visited an old church, and the husband was told by a disembodied voice to leave, while the wife was told to stay. Gifted people have felt ghosts of children and teenagers who were murdered, killed by accidents, or committed suicide.

One of the most famous "spooks" in the Ozarks may or may not be a ghost. Some eleven miles southwest of Joplin, Missouri, a mysterious glowing orb is seen sometimes. This phenomenon, whether natural, supernatural, or paranormal, goes by the names of "The Joplin Spook light," "The Hornet Spook light," and "The Devil's Promenade." It has been claimed that the light is the ghosts of a disturbed Indian burial ground, or a ghost of an Indian looking for his lost lover, or that it's just swamp gas, or caused by reflections from car headlights, though reports have predated the heavy use of automobiles. People have seen the spook light moving like someone carrying a lantern. Others have seen it simply float in the air, though some claim that when they try to approach it, it vanishes and reappears elsewhere. Still, one unique report claims that the light approached their car, split and passed the vehicle on both sides, and rejoined on the other side.

One of the strangest true ghostly tales happened at a tourist attraction in Branson, Missouri. An employee for the Showboat Branson Belle, a recreated riverboat that goes on short trips into a lake while entertaining guests, claims she came into work late, and entered the main room of the boat. She found the room completely empty, a strange emptiness that made her feel very uncomfortable, so she left. When she told her managers and coworkers about the experience, they told her they had been in the main room at the time. Had she somehow stepped into an alternate dimension or time? No one knows.

In my childhood home, my mother claimed she heard a baby crying one night. The sounds came from the back of the house, which had been added on while we were living there. At the time, we had no babies. Even more strangely, once my sister claimed she saw a strange girl in a blue dress walking through the laundry room.

I may have once seen a ghost. I was looking out the new back door, and saw what looked like a mist floating towards the window of the screen door. As I watched it, the mist turned into the image of a skull with a red glow from the eye sockets. It seemed to begin to form a body as well, but I lost my nerve and ran to my bedroom.

The wind blew in Jack's face. He thought about how thin Charlotte's dress must be. He held up his quilt and tucked in his coat.

"Getting cold," he explained. "This will keep you warm."

She turned it back with an icy cold hand.

"Drive on," she snapped.

Jack sighed. He knew where the O'Learys' lived, but it would be awhile before they got there.

About five miles later, Jack asked, "Uh, want that quilt?"

"Drive on," she repeated, in the same cold tone.

"No reason to be so rude," Jack grumbled under his breath.

In another five miles, the O'Leary's place came into view.

"Almost there, Charlotte."

"Drive on!" she snarled.

Jack pulled into the O'Leary's yard. He turned to look at Charlotte, deciding if he wanted to help her out.

Charlotte didn't move. For the first time, Jack noticed how pale she was. In fact, her lips looked blue. Then he realized she hadn't blinked for about a minute. She didn't say a word.

She was frozen.

Jack jumped out and ran to the O'Learys' house, banging on the door.

"Help me!" he shouted. "For the love of God, help me!"

Mr. O'Leary came out.

"What's the trouble, son?"

"She's dead!" shouted Jack, pointing to the wagon.

"Who?"

Jack looked at the wagon. No one was there. He ran to the wagon, looking to see if maybe her body had fallen over. It hadn't.

"Where could she have gone?"

"Who?" asked Mr. O'Leary.

"Charlotte!"

Mr. O'Leary looked at him.

"Come inside and get warm, son," he said. "You need to hear this."

As Jack warmed his hands at the fire, Mr. O'Leary lit his pipe.

"We used to have dances and parties here about ten years ago," the old man began. "There was one fancy girl who always made sure to attend every party we had. Charlotte. She was all right, but as time went on, she became prouder of how fancy she looked.

"The last dance we had, she had got her prettiest and fanciest and most expensive dress ever. It was a cold winter night, and her mother tried to give her a quilt to keep her warm. She turned it down. Didn't want to be seen in a country quilt. Well, her driver took her, and tried to keep her warm, but she would just tell him to keep going. Finally, he got to the dance..."

"...But she had frozen to death..." murmured Jack.

Mr. O'Leary shook his head.

"Too true."

Jack went out and got back on his wagon. He clicked his tongue and cracked the reins. As he went on, the wind whistled past his ear. All at once, he heard a sharp whisper."Drive on!"